


Helping Hands

by sirsparklepants



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy Hargrove Tries to Be a Better Sibling, Family Bonding, Fix-It, Gratuitous General Hospital References, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Physical Disability, Post-Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-08 08:40:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19866703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirsparklepants/pseuds/sirsparklepants
Summary: Season 3 spoilersThe chest wound wasn't the worst of it, really. Probably would have been if he'd been awake for it, but for the first six weeks after Billy almost died he was in a medicated haze somewhere so classified he never knew the name of the facility or the faces of any of its staff. ...No, the worst of it had come a few days into week seven. A nice woman with a sweet voice had come in to explain to him exactly what the extent of his injuries were. Turned out humans just weren't meant to hold a demonic force from another dimension. ... The woman used words like "cortisol" and "parasympathetic nervous system" and "pervasive joint weakness", and Billy stared at her blankly. When he finally understood what she was getting at, he squeezed the rails of his bed until his knuckles turned white.-After the Mindflayer, Billy is left with some lasting effects. Luckily he's got some people to help him through.





	Helping Hands

**Author's Note:**

> I have a lot of feelings about physical disability, abuse victims, the ways abusive step-parents will pit children against each other, family bonding despite that, and the devaluation of media traditionally aimed at women, so y'all get this fic. 
> 
> Research I did for this: asking my mechanic friend about the general repairs needed for a driver's side impact on a late 70s camaro, asking her mom about her favorite General Hospital storylines of this era and then googling to place them in time, googling when Headbanger's Ball started airing, tracking down info on Heavy Metal Mania which was its precursor (Lemmy did in fact appear on it in 1985, but I moved the show from Christmas to Thanksgiving. [Here's a commercial from then!](https://youtu.be/degIf4l53oM)) Research I did not do for this fic: any goddamn other thing. 
> 
> Billy's experience with physical disabilities isn't particularly based on medical practices in the 80s or the injuries he gets onscreen; they're based on my own experiences instead. I had a blast writing this, though, and I hope y'all had even half as much fun reading it. I fell headfirst into obsession with this pairing in February and I'm so stoked to finally contribute.

The chest wound wasn't the worst of it, really. Probably would have been if he'd been awake for it, but for the first six weeks after Billy almost died he was in a medicated haze somewhere so classified he never knew the name of the facility or the faces of any of its staff - they were working out if that thing was gone or still in there somewhere, hiding. By the time he was transferred to somewhere a little less secure, he was mostly knitted up there, if shockingly weak.

No, the worst of it had come a few days into week seven, when a surprising number of tearful reunions had been gotten out of the way (the tears weren't just his visitors', although he blamed getting weaned off the morphine on that one). A nice woman with a sweet voice had come in to explain to him exactly what the extent of his injuries were. Turned out humans just weren't meant to hold a demonic force from another dimension. It- him- the Mindflayer - he didn't know what Billy was capable of, really. It made him go longer, work harder, than his body could take - that and the strain of fighting it, of breaking through enough to save Karen Wheeler, to rev the engine, to turn on him at last, had… damaged him. The woman used words like "cortisol" and "parasympathetic nervous system" and "pervasive joint weakness", and Billy stared at her blankly. When he finally understood what she was getting at, he squeezed the rails of his bed until his knuckles turned white.

"Get out," he said, through gritted teeth. He didn't yell. There was a fury boiling in his gut, but he didn't yell. _He_ was always yelling. Neil, the Mindflayer. Billy didn't yell much any more, and it had nothing to do with the lingering ache in his diaphragm.

_It wasn't fair_ , he wanted to say, childishly. _I lost almost everything else, and now I have to lose this too?_ He'd always been proud of his body, not just how it looked but what it could do, and now both of them had been taken away. Not completely - even with the scar, his face still looked nice, and it wasn't like he was paralyzed. But he'd never play basketball again. He'd struggle, tinkering with his Camaro. And he'd never be able to work himself back up to cut enough that people would ignore the scars littering his chest.

But not much in his life had been fair, so after half an hour of staring sightlessly at the wall, feeling the tears creep down his face but not feeling the raging storm that used to come with them, he called the woman back in.

So now Billy had a physical therapist. He had braces for his wrists and his knees. He had exercises that he would have sneered at before all this, when he lifted weights so the burn in his muscles would drown out the burn of humiliation, of helplessness in his gut after a confrontation with his father. He had an on-and-off shooting pain down one leg and in the ball of the opposite shoulder joint that made sleeping on his side an agony. He had a prescription for that shooting pain that sometimes worked and sometimes didn't. He had a burning resentment whenever he watched sports on TV or kids ride by on their bikes past his living room window as he cursed and sweated his way through his PT.

It wasn't so bad, he guessed. Better than being dead, at least if it wasn't a bad day. At least he was already used to the pitying stares people gave him in the street, although it was unusual that it was for his own sake and not because of a gift from his dad. At least he could work on it, even if his PT said he went too hard and might offset his progress. Billy had to find something else to calm that burn of helplessness inside him, though. Since everything, it just kept building up.

* * *

He and Max squabbled over the hot water bottle about once a month. Billy kind of hated that he knew when to expect his little sister's fucking period cramps now. It was proof of one more thing keeping him here, something he would have rejected with a vengeance when they rolled into town. But Max had been nothing but a sister to him through his recovery - snatching the remote from his hands when he'd get lost in his own head when something on TV reminded him of that black abyss, throwing her feet on his back as she sat on the coffee table while he was stretched out on the couch gritting his teeth against the horrible leaching cold of the PT-mandated ice treatments, throwing his pill bottles across the room at him because he was "being such a little bitch, Billy, take a chill pill" on the days that pain turned his temper hard and jagged. So he guessed he could share the damn hot water bottle with her once in a while, even if it meant he knew something about her he'd never been close enough to any woman to know.

On the third round of bickering this month, Billy guessed Susan got fed up with it, because she suggested Billy could use her bathroom to take a hot bath. It was just her bathroom now - something had happened in those six weeks he'd spent drugged up in a secure base or something, or in the two weeks in Hawkins General after that. Billy didn't know and Max and Susan weren't talking. Susan let him stay in her house, though, even though she had no reason to, so he didn't pry too hard. No one acted like Neil could come back through that door at any moment, so after the first month, Billy relaxed a little.

He wasn't sure if he was relaxed enough to use the bathroom in a room that had belonged to Neil, though. Susan must have seen the reluctance on his face, because she added, "I've got some Epsom salts, too?" in a hesitant voice.

Billy hadn't taken a bath since he was about eight years old, but Epsom salt foot soaks were a regular part of treating the sore feet and twisted ankles he got playing basketball, and the idea of that hot, comforting relief all over, especially when he still felt cold down to his marrow sometimes, decided him. "Yeah, okay," he said.

Max snatched the hot water bottle off his hip with a triumphant noise, which she ruined by immediately curling around it like a little kid with a teddy bear. They were both on opposite ends of the couch with their feet up, Billy spread out and Max hunched over, occasionally kicking each other's feet and then subsiding as their various aches and pains made themselves known. Before Billy could heave himself off the couch - kind of an ordeal on days like today - Susan rested a light hand on his shoulder.

"You and Max finish your show and I'll go ahead and run you a bath," she said.

Billy didn't flinch from the touch, but it was a near thing. Susan hadn't done anything to him, but when Neil was living there, she hadn't done much for him, either. Probably Susan hadn't had the best experience with men; Billy could read the signs, and his asshole dad didn't help. But she'd kicked his dad out and kept him, so they were both trying.

"But this is _your_ show," he objected, not used to other people doing for him. And not used to people referring to General Hospital as 'his show', either. He'd gotten hooked on it in the hospital just so he could have something different to chat about with the nurses, but he wasn't about to go shouting about it from the rooftops.

"It's taped, Billy," Susan said. "Maybe I'll watch it later, when it's a little quieter in here." Billy flushed. Maybe he and Max did get a little loud over the hot water bottle, and Robert and Holly. Susan smiled, though, and squeezed his shoulder before she left.

* * *

So that's how Billy started taking baths. Susan had a nice big bath - funny, when the rest of the place was a shithole, for all it was twice as big as anything they could afford in California - and Billy could really spread out in it. It wasn't just the heat, although after the biting pain of the cold he'd been in and how his muscles sometimes shrieked when he so much as bent over, that would have been enough. It was how, with a big cup of Epsom salt in it, his body floated a little, took some of the strain off his joints in the water. It was nothing like the ocean, but it reminded him of floating in it, just a little. How he felt cradled there and safe.

He almost fell asleep in that first one Susan ran for him, as the shock of a dozen nagging little aches and pains he hadn't even been aware of melting away hit him like - well, like that monster, really. Billy stayed in until the water started to cool off, and when he got out he thought maybe he could get through dinner in the hard uncomfortable chairs that always made his toes go numb without snapping at Max for keeping the hot water bottle that night.

After that, though, he kept it quick. Ten or fifteen minutes of soaking was enough to work out the worst of everything, and he didn't like too much time alone in his own head these days.

Susan asked him about it after a couple of weeks. "Billy, you know I wouldn't have offered to let you use my tub if it bothered me," she said hesitantly. "There's another bathroom, it's not like our old apartment."

"Nah, it's not that," he said, fidgeting a little under her concerned gaze. "I just get -" _worried, too in my own head, lost in thought, did you know I see their faces still, what am I going to do for a job since I can't sit too long and can't stand too long and can't bend over on bad days without screaming, is that thing really gone for good because no one's told me anything and I had to sign so many papers_ , "- bored, I guess." He closed his jaw, hard, on the rest of the thoughts that wanted to come spilling out. Neil wasn't here, and he liked Max and Susan alright, now, but his father's specter loomed too large for him to say any of that shit to her.

Susan probably picked up on some of it anyway. To survive Neil and men like him, you had to be able to read the undercurrents. But she just hummed a little and didn't press.

The next time Billy went in to run a bath, though, there were a couple worn romances sitting on the back of the toilet tank. One of them had water rippling on the bottom already, so he picked that one up as the water ran, figuring if he dropped it - or got fed up and chucked it into the bath - at least it'd be one that was already half ruined.

It was okay, he guessed. Kept him in the bath an extra ten minutes. Not the kind of thing he'd ever be into on his own, though.

"Why'd you like that book?" he complained to Susan while he was helping her make dinner. "That girl is a drip. Laura on General Hospital is way better, and I know she's your favorite. You got better taste than that."

"Better taste than what?" Max asked, coming into the kitchen to try and filch some scraps like a weirdo like she always did.

"This trashy book she left me to read in the bath," Billy said, refusing to flush over the fact that he was the guy who took baths and argued with his sister and stepmom over soaps now and not the guy who lifted weights and whipped his car too fast around the dark Hawkins streets. At least he wasn't the possessed guy any more. "The girl is so dumb and the guy is just some asshole."

"Oh, they improve," Susan said, smacking Max's hand away as she tried to grab a piece of carrot off the cutting board. "I don't think you could have gotten more than three chapters in today, or you wouldn't be asking me that question. Get halfway before you judge it, at least."

Billy did end up finishing the book, in the end. Susan was doing a nice thing for him, after all, so he guessed he could put up with a dumb girl and the asshole she was after for a couple more baths. And they did turn out okay in the end. But he was still really glad to see the romances vanish in favor of the cheap pulp adventure novels Susan and Max seemed to devour like candy. He was extra careful with those.

* * *

Max's little friends came around a lot. They'd had a weird conversation the first week Billy was in the regular hospital where they thanked him for saving them but told him he was still an asshole for the previous fall, and he said thanks for trying to save him and apologized for the shit he did as himself. Now that he'd killed people - Max said it was all the Mindflayer, but Billy knew his own darkness better than to buy into that - he could clearly see the petty meanness of bullying a group of kids just to feel powerful instead of powerless for once, and he was ashamed. No one talked about the monsters head on, but they all knew they were talking around them. Anyway, he wasn't their favorite person, but it wasn't a cold war when they visited either.

He'd apologized to Steve Harrington, too, around that time; the other boy had come to see him in the hospital, and Billy had choked the words out, avoiding looking at Steve's defensive stance or wary eyes directly. He was glad he had, now, because this conversation would be real awkward otherwise.

Mostly the kids biked to their house, but it was getting cold again, so today Steve picking them up. Billy sat by the kitchen window, ostensibly smoking out of it while the kids watched something in the living room, but really watching for Steve. When the BMW pulled up, Billy jogged out of the house, shivering in his jeans and long-sleeved shirt, before Steve could so much as step away from his car.

"Hey," Billy said, trying not to let on how much the cold was fucking with his bad joints. "I've got a favor to ask you."

"Yeah?" Steve asked, raising his eyebrows. Billy guessed he was lucky he wasn't dismissing him outright.

Billy looked furtively over his shoulder before he told Steve, "Yeah, it's for Max. She's turning fifteen soon, and Susan works about a million hours since my dad left, so her car is always gone. I want to fix up the Camaro so I can finish teaching her how to drive." Billy left out the part where he thought he might give it to her when she turned sixteen; much as he loved that car, getting in and out of something so low slung these days was chancy at best.

"Still don't see what this has to do with me," Steve said, but he was a little more relaxed now. Listening.

"I want it to be a surprise," Billy said, "and you're the only one I know who's got the space to keep it out of sight. And…" he hesitated, but if he really wanted to get this done by February, it was necessary. "After this summer, I can't… bend down too long, be under the car too long, shit like that. I could fix it all myself, but it'd take too long without an extra pair of hands. I could use your help."

Steve looked actively concerned now, losing most of that wary look. "I didn't know it was still that bad," he said. "Max said that you were pretty much healed up last month when I asked."

Billy didn't know Steve had asked about him. "Yeah, well," he said, "guess some things just leave marks that don't go away. Think of it as my penance for what an asshole I was to you and those kids." He grasped the pendant around his neck without much thinking about it.

Steve looked like he had something he wanted to say to all that, but he refrained. Instead he told Billy, "My mom kicked my dad out of the house last week so there's an extra space in the garage. We gonna be done by Christmas, do you think?"

"How come?" Billy asked, a little startled by the information about Steve's home life. Last year, he would have coaxed and cajoled any number of people for that tidbit.

"She always kicks him out in November to spend Thanksgiving somewhere else but lets him convince her that a good family Christmas will change him," Steve told him, shrugging. "I don't know why she keeps fooling herself. But if we're not done by then, she'll probably get a kick of making him park in the driveway when he owns the house. That's his penance this year, I guess." He looked at Billy a little sideways and twitched the corner of his mouth up in a tiny smirk.

Billy smirked right back at him. "Probably won't be done til January, 'less you're more of a tinkerer than I'd guess. You might be, to keep that overpriced import on the road."

"Hey now," Steve said, mock-angry, "that's a fine-tuned piece of German engineering you're insulting. And also, unless I miss my guess, your only way you're getting over to my place any time soon. I'm all the way on the other side of town."

"Why is Billy coming over to your house?" Max said from behind them. Jesus christ, Billy hadn't even heard her come out of the house. He hadn't even noticed the ache in his hands.

"He's helping me with my application essays," Steve said without missing a beat. Must have had a lot of practice lying to his parents to get that smooth. "Max has my address and phone number, call me later and we'll set something up."

Billy nodded and stepped back into the warmth of the house as Steve started to round up the other kids, hollering and fussing in turn. He still didn't hurt as much as he should. It was nice.

* * *

Billy had enough money stashed away from a few weeks of his summer job to pay for the body work and the tow from the shop, but in the end, Steve insisted on paying for it. "This way it's a present from both of us," he'd said in the car on the way over to the impound lot. "Gives me something better to give her than extra arcade quarters and a milkshake, like I gave them all last year. And if I try and buy parts, I know I'll get the wrong ones."

Billy had agreed that was probably true, and let Steve shell out a hefty chunk of his video store paycheck, if only because after everything, he'd feel better with Max on the road with new parts instead of rotors he'd resurfaced or something, and this way he could afford them. Learning to drive - well, learning to drive better, since she'd let it slip that she'd been behind the wheel on her own at least once before - she'd need fresh brakes and rotors. So now he and Steve were in the spacious Harrington family garage with a space heater and a radio both blasting, checking out the damage and making a game plan.

"Didn't think a pretty boy like you knew too much about cars," Billy teased after the third time he went to explain something and Steve told him he already knew.

Steve shrugged. "Yeah, well. A fine tuned-engine like my lady's requires a lot of maintenance to keep it that way and my dad hates paying for it. I picked some stuff up so he wouldn't lecture me so much. Plus, y'know, he thinks shit like auto repair isn't fitting, or whatever, so I make sure to change the oil right before he shows up to family dinner." An uncomfortable look passed over his face, but it disappeared as he pointed at Billy and said, "And don't think you can say shit about how much work she takes, Hargrove. You drive a fucking Chevy. You've got no room to say anything about how much time anyone spends under the hood."

"Yeah, well, doing some tinkering on a German engine is all well and good, but I don't think it's properly prepared you for getting deep into a big, solid piece of American muscle," Billy said, smirking, making his tone as sleazy as he could. He was gonna ignore that baseless bullshit about Chevrolet, because Steve was doing him a favor here. He was gonna move past the dad thing, too, because the last thing he wanted to talk about was dads. And something about this close space, smelling of engine oil and gasoline and very faintly, just because they were standing so close to look at the engine block, of whatever shampoo Steve used, brought out Billy's urge to make cheap innuendo.

He'd expected Steve to make a grossed-out face, or maybe to laugh off the remark, but instead Steve leaned even closer to him and said, "Oh yeah? You gonna let me go all the way? Show me a real good time?"

Billy felt a grin slipping onto his face and his tongue slipping out of his mouth. Oh, Steve wanted to play the game right back, huh? Billy could do that.

"Not today, Harrington," he said, tilting his head to the side and locking his eyes with Steve's, "but real soon."

* * *

Susan didn't charge Billy rent like his dad had threatened to, and whenever he started to make noises about finding a job again she started fretting about how much PT he still had to do every day, not to mention his monthly follow up with the government doctors, and how would they work out transport, and on and on and on. He'd dropped it for now, but it meant he and Steve were working on Steve's schedule and otherwise Billy had a bunch of time to bum around. That had been fine when he still had trouble walking around, but more than four months on from his injury, he was starting to go a little nuts around the house all the time. Most of the people he'd known who would cart him to a party were out of Hawkins now, and besides, he couldn't do a keg stand in the shape his body was in. He didn't feel like making inane conversation where people tried to pretend they weren't deathly curious about what happened at Starcourt, either. Sometimes he got Susan to drop him at the library, or if it was a good day he'd walk there or to the grocery store. But mostly he read or watched TV or did his goddamn physical therapy, and he was getting pretty sick of it.

In desperation, one day while he was waiting for Steve to get off work and cart him over to work on the Camaro, Billy got to work organizing all the mail that was scattered around the house in all the places Susan would drop it after coming home from work. And after that was done, he figured he might as well open all the bills up, organize them by date due or something. And after that, somehow he found himself sitting down and writing out a budget.

Neil had always handled the money when he was around. Much as he liked to brag about his service, he'd been a glorified bookkeeper, in charge of supply. No good for getting medals, but he kept a decent budget. Even when money was real tight, they'd never starved. Missed a light bill once or twice, but there was always food on the table. Without him around, Billy could tell Susan was struggling. He'd come across her once or twice late at night at the kitchen table, bills and her checkbook spread out around her, chewing on a pen as she followed a line of figures with her finger. Billy figured this was something he could do for her, since they were trying, the both of them, to build something in his dad's absence. Plus, maybe with this in front of her, he could convince her to cut back her hours if he found some work. Max was almost fifteen now, but she was starting to miss having her mom around as much, he could tell by how bitchy she was getting.

Susan's purse was sitting on the kitchen table - she was getting ready to go to work, Billy had heard her blowdryer cut off a few minutes ago - and he figured he might as well balance her checkbook while he was at it. But of course Susan walked out of the bedroom while Billy had his hand halfway into her purse.

"Billy, what -" she said, confusion clear on her face.

"I wasn't stealing," he said, snatching his hand away and backing up a step. Susan wasn't his dad but she could make life real hard for him if she wanted to.

"I didn't think you were," she said, frowning, "but I would prefer if you didn't go through my purse."

"I was just gonna balance your checkbook," Billy said, feeling stupid. Of course she didn't want him to go through her things. What was he thinking? "I was just doing the budget for you so I thought I could finish up with that, I'm sorry."

Susan's face smoothed out - she must have seen something on his face, or maybe felt the lingering presence of his dad in the room. "You did the budget?" she asked, stepping over to the table. "Well, that was very nice of you, but -" she stopped and looked at what he'd written. Then she leaned in and ran her finger down the rows. "But I have to go to work and pick up my paycheck today, so if you balanced it now, you'd have to do more work later. You can when I get home."

Billy felt some tension leave his shoulders. "I'll be out for a while this evening - maybe tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow would be fine," Susan agreed. "I won't let Max watch General Hospital without you."

"I think you should be asking me to keep her from watching it without _you_ ," he said, smirking.

"Goodbye, Billy," Susan said, and Billy got the feeling that she really wanted to roll her eyes at him. "Have fun with your friend."

* * *

Billy wasn't going to tell Steve about it - they don't do much beside trade mostly good natured insults and sometimes argue about a repair - but Steve's mom was home for once, and she brought them red wine in these wide goblets while they worked on the car. It was the first time Billy met her, and he stood up as fast as he could manage, wiping engine grease off his hands with a rag. 

"You didn't have to bring us anything, Mom," Steve said, but he took the wine anyway, leaving a big black fingerprint on the glass.

"Well, I wanted to meet your friend," she said, handing Billy the second glass and keeping one for herself. 

"Right," Steve said. "Well, Mom, this is Billy Hargrove - we played basketball together, and he's Max's brother. Billy, this is my mom."

"Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Harrington," Billy said, and fixed his most charming grin on his face as he leaned against the car. "You'll forgive me for not taking your hand." He gestured at the grease stains all up his arms.

"Even offering makes you better than some of Steve's friends," his mom said, smiling at him. It was a polite businesswoman smile, though, not the one he usually got from charmed older women. "I wish I could stay and chat, but I have some accounts to go over. Steve, you know where the wine cabinet is if you want a top-up. I'm keeping the rest of this bottle for myself."

"The Richardson account?" Steve asked knowingly. 

"Who else?" his mom said, and then clicked out of the garage in her sensible business pumps. 

Billy kind of laughed, and then took a sip of the red wine, since it was on offer. Not too bad, actually. Sweeter than he'd expected, and it didn't have that bite that cheap wine tended to. 

"Your mom's a trip," he said to Steve. "Did she give us wine in actual glasses while we're working on a car?" 

"Yeah," Steve said, smiling wryly. "She wouldn't be a good hostess if she didn't pour us a glass while she's having one, and I think she'd rather have a root canal than serve wine in anything but the right glasses."

"Jesus." Billy shook his head. Rich people were weird. "Doesn't she care she's gonna have to scrub engine grease off of 'em later?" 

Steve laughed and took a sip of his own wine. "Ah, no. She doesn't do the dishes. That'll be me scrubbing the fingerprints off tonight. Price of still living at home, I guess."

"Better than me," Billy found himself saying. "I help with the chores, too, but I think I just stuck myself with balancing the checkbook and shit on top of it today."

Steve polished off his wine and held out his hand for Billy's glass, also empty, looking interested. "Yeah? How'd you manage that? My mom would never let me, she says we'd go broke in a month and that's why I can't live on my own yet."

Billy followed Steve as they went into the kitchen and tried not to stare. This was the first time he'd been properly inside the Harrington house, and it was a lot. "Got bored, did a budget," he said, watching Steve's hands on the corkscrew instead of his face. "...might have gotten myself caught with my hand in Susan's purse."

Steve paused. "You're kidding," he said. 

"Nope," Billy said. "I was just gonna balance her checkbook, she's always like ten dollars off every week, I hear her bitching about it all the time. Sure was awkward, though." He didn't think about the lurching, gut-deep certainty that had hit him for just a moment that Susan was going to tell his dad - never mind that she'd kicked him out months ago. 

Steve laughed, though, and poured them both more wine. "Can't believe the keg king does math for fun," he said, leading them back out into the garage and handing Billy his glass back. It wasn't quite mean, but it could have been, if Steve said it right. Billy's stomach twisted in a way that could have been unpleasant, but wasn't. 

"You'd go stir crazy enough to do math too, in the house all day with nothing to do but read and watch TV," Billy said. "Can't drive anywhere with no car."

"Well, we'll fix that," Steve said. "Now come on, it's been more than half an hour since you've told me about some piece of your girl that makes her better than mine and I think you might cry if you go much longer without it." 

"Just cause you can't see the beauty of an American make -" Billy started, and that was it, they were off again. 

His keg king days really were over for good, Billy realized fuzzily as Steve drove him home. They'd polished off the rest of the bottle Steve had opened as they worked, and Billy wasn't drunk, but his thoughts were slower and softer than usual. He was content for once to sit quietly in the car with the one tape he and Steve consistently agreed on playing just loud enough to be heard. When Steve spoke, Billy almost flinched he was so startled. 

"You know," Steve said hesitantly, "if you're that bored during the day, you can come into the video store sometime. It's not too far from your place." He pointed, and sure enough, there was the sign. They were still a good twenty minute hike from the house, but that was doable on a good day. No further than the grocery store and he didn't have to go back with his hands full. 

"Oh yeah?" Billy asked. "Gonna give me some personal recommendations?"

"I thought more like you could entertain me and Robin while it's slow, but yeah, sure," Steve said. "As long as you don't like weird artsy shit like her. Then you're on your own."

Billy snorted. "Terminator is my favorite movie, pretty boy. You work it out."

"I should have guessed," Steve said, "what with what you were wearing at that party." He grinned as they pulled into the driveway, and Billy wanted to follow up with that a little, because he didn't think Steve had remembered that. 

Max must have been waiting by the door, though, because she barreled out as soon as Steve had the car in park. Billy barely had time to open the door, let alone get out, before she was bitching at him. 

"Come on, Billy, it's Monday and Mom won't let us watch without you! I have to know what happens with Robin and the pearls!" 

"It's taped, Maxine," Billy grumbled, nudging her back enough that he could step out of the car. "It'll still be there in ten minutes."

Max rolled her eyes. "Yeah, but I won't know what happened if you don't come in!" She stuck her head in the door and widened her eyes at Steve like a crazy person. "Don't keep him so long next time, Steve! We all have to watch it together if my mom's not working late."

"Watch what - wait, _General Hospital_?" Steve asked. There was a gleam of mirth in his eyes.

"Well, how would you know that?" Billy shot back. They hadn't said the name, after all. Still, he could feel a flush creeping over his ears. 

"Yeah, guilty," Steve said, amused. "My mom tapes it and she always makes me watch it with her if my dad isn't home. I guess I should find out what happens with Robin and the pearls too."

Max was too old for tugging at Billy's hand, but clearly she was just barely restraining herself, because she was huffing about every thirty seconds and tapping her foot just like her mom did. Billy leaned down extra slow, mostly just to piss her off even more, and told Steve, "Thanks for the ride. Maybe I will drop in on you sometime." Then he stood up just as slowly and made his way back into the house. He didn't dawdle quite as much as he could have. He wanted to find out what was up with Robin too. 

* * *

Steve stayed over the next time he dropped off the crowd of kids. It was a Saturday and Susan was picking up some extra hours at work, so it was just them and they could be as loud as they wanted. Which was pretty damn loud. Billy had begged off working on the car today because a sudden drop in temperature had fire sliding along his hip and shoulder, and he'd hoped to lay down in bed with the hot water bottle and listen to a record while chain-smoking enough cigarettes to turn the burn into a dull ache. Steve seemed like he was there for him, though, not the kids, so Billy sucked it up and tried not to hobble around too obviously while he tried to calculate if it was too early for a beer. 

"Don't they normally hang at Wheeler's house?" he complained, leaning against the fridge with the bottle pressed against his hip. "Why aren't they there? This house is too goddamn small for all of them."

"Habit now, I think," Steve said, wincing as the dull roar from the living room spiked. He'd brought over three movies and refused to be involved in the argument about what order they'd be watched in that ensued. Billy's face must have conveyed his confusion, because Steve continued, "Back when the government wouldn't tell us anything and we thought you were dead, Max didn't want to be too far from your stuff in case your dad tried to throw it out. Then she didn't want to be away from the phone in case they got any news. Then she wanted to stick around here for you. They all got used to coming over here, I guess."

Billy felt strangely touched. Well, not strangely. Max was his sister, and getting more and more sister-like with every day Neil was gone. He knew that. But it was one thing to know it and another to hear about how she wouldn't hang with her nerdy friends - the ones she'd nearly castrated him over - in case she heard something about him. He cleared his throat and shifted. Then he frowned as the full meaning of what Steve had said hit him. "They thought I was dead?" He knew if it ever happened, his dad would throw away his shit, just like he'd gotten rid of anything that reminded him of Billy's mom. 

"Yeah, for about a week," Steve said. "Then when the base or whatever finally called him to let him know, Max said he was a real prick about it." 

Billy snorted. "Not surprised," he said. "I don't think he's been anything but a real prick about me my whole life. He was probably upset they told him he wasn't rid of me after all."

Steve frowned for a moment before clearly pasting a smile on his face. "Yeah, well, he's not standing here right now and you are, so I guess that's what it got him," he said, gesturing around the kitchen. 

"Yeah, about that," Billy said. He really wanted to know what the fuck had happened with his dad. "When I got home he'd cleared out and Susan and Max won't say shit to me about it. You know what happened there?" 

Steve shifted from foot to foot. "I don't know that it's my place, and all I really have is gossip," he said, fingers drumming on the counter. 

"Better than what I have now," Billy said, and stepped a little closer to make sure the rugrats couldn't hear them even if their argument wound down. "Steve. It's my dad. I deserve to know."

Billy watched the long bob of Steve's Adam's apple as he swallowed before looking at Billy determinedly. "Okay. Uh, Max wanted to talk to you on the phone while you were in that government place, but she's not blood related, so they wouldn't let her. And your dad wouldn't call them up and then put her on the phone - some horseshit about protecting America by not going around important security procedures, I guess. Max wouldn't shut up about it for a week so we all know that much. Uh, but your dad made them keep you in that government place as long as they could because. Well, if they could poke at you, he wasn't paying the hospital bills."

Steve swallowed again, and Billy gave him a moment. "Well, Max was basically ready to stage a break-in on the facility just to get to see you or something - I guess the last time she talked to you was when you were at the mall, and you were really hurt then. Her mom had to take off work to bring her to the hospital, because your dad was off but he told her it wouldn't hurt her to wait one more day when it had been that long. And when they came back…" Steve shrugged. 

"When they came back what?" Billy asked, keeping a wary eye on the doorway. 

"I don't know for sure," Steve said. "Max is a vault about it. She said she caused some trouble telling secrets that weren't hers before, and she wasn't gonna do it again. But, uh, I guess her mom didn't realize how bad things were for you before that, because it was all over town that she came back and made your dad come out to the front yard to stop her screaming at him. I don't know what she said, and Hopper was still on bed rest at the time so he doesn't know much either, but it ended up with the cops hauling him off. Then she said something to him at the station the next day, and nobody knows exactly what, but he left town a week later."

Wow. Susan must have had something really bad on his dad. Billy kind of wanted to know what it was, but he kind of didn't at the same time. "Wow," he said. "Didn't know she had it in her, to be honest."

Steve laughed a little. "Guess Max got it from somewhere," he said. The noise level from the living room had subsided some, and Steve listened for a moment. "Oh, they're watching your favorite," he told Billy. "You wanna join?" 

"Nah," Billy said, "if I do Max will fight me for the hot water bottle and nobody will get to watch the movie." The bottle in question was starting to cool, and he dumped the water out for fresh stuff. "Actually," he said as the taps ran, "will you bring this in to her? I think I might take a bath." He was probably being a bad host or whatever, but Steve had invited himself and Billy needed some time alone with his thoughts. Never mind that on a normal really bad day, he'd never get in the tub for fear he wouldn't be able to haul himself out. He'd manage. He always did.

* * *

Well. Maybe Billy wasn't managing so great right now. He'd picked up a book at random from the shelf Susan had had him put together over the toilet and made it through about half before his whirling thoughts had quieted. Baths and pulp novels didn't do as much for him as lifting weights or testing the Camaro's steering against Hawkins' curving backwoods streets, but they were better than the way his dad used to handle these things, before his rushing thoughts and shaking hands and tears transformed into anger. The problem was he'd gotten too into the story, forgot to move enough to keep from getting stiff and weak, and now he knew for a fact that if he tried to stand up he'd end up slipping. He didn't hate PT the way some of the other patients seemed to, but he didn't want any more of it if he could help it.

Billy gritted his teeth, hating that tears sprung up in his eyes at the helplessness and frustration that welled up in him. He was getting better, damn it. He hadn't felt like this in weeks - well, not for longer than a flash, as he watched how easily Steve rolled under the Camaro or how Max pulled a pot off the bottom shelf without thinking about it. The worst part was that he knew that it was his own goddamn fault. The baths helped, normally, but sometimes they were just fucking impossible. It had been more than two months since he was out of the hospital. He should have known his own limits by now, and normally he did. He was just too distracted thinking about Susan and his goddamn dad.

He splashed some bathwater on his face, so maybe it looked more like he'd just gotten his hair wet than he'd been crying, and took a deep breath. He couldn't stay in here all day.

"Hey!" Billy called out, grateful for the first time for the size of the house. He still didn't like yelling too much. "Hey, can you rugrats even hear me over your goddamn movie?"

There was nothing for a little while - a minute or two, Billy guessed, counting his heartbeats. He started to worry that no one would hear him or think to check on him - and why should they? They were all distracted. He felt the tears threatening again, and the panic, and the anger that he couldn't do something so fucking _simple_. He took a deep breath in, then another one, like he did back when he could lift, and then actually bellowed this time.

"HEY! ANYBODY LISTENING?"

The pause was much shorter this time before he heard someone's footsteps pounding down the hallway. He guessed Max, since they didn't hesitate at Susan's door but came straight to the bathroom.

"Billy?" Max said, and she sounded hesitant, maybe a little wary. Billy wasn't the only one unnerved by his own yelling these days.

"Can you go get Steve?" Billy asked, and hated the way his throat was tight. "I need… some help."

There was silence from Max's side of the door for a moment, and Billy asked in alarm, "He didn't leave already, did he? I thought he was carting all your little friends home."

"He is," Max said immediately, "but why do you need him? I've been helping you, haven't I?"

Billy snorted involuntarily. "Yeah, but Steve's had gym with me," he said. "He's already seen me naked. You haven't."

" _Gross_ ," Max said. Billy could picture exactly the face she must be making.

"What, do you shower with your clothes on?" Billy asked. He was pretty grossed out by the thought of Max seeing him naked himself. "So go get Steve, would you?"

"Ugh," Max huffed, but Billy could hear her walking away.

The water wasn't cold yet, but it was getting there, and Billy wasn't all that eager to find out what cool water did to his fucked up hip. He wasn't eager to find out what memories it brought back, either, so he was grateful when it wasn't long before he heard a knock on the bathroom door. "Max said you needed me?" came Steve's voice through it.

"Come in," Billy said, "and shut the door behind you."

Steve did and walked a little closer. "What is it?" he said. He did a good job of keeping his eyes on Billy's face, but his gaze strayed down a couple of times. Billy didn't blame him. The scars were big and obvious. Everyone would look. That's why he didn't take his shirt off or show off his chest any more.

Billy took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He couldn't be looking at Steve while he admitted this kind of weakness. "I can't get out," he said, staring at the backs of his eyelids like he could melt them with willpower alone. "Hip locked up with the fucking weather. Need some help."

To his credit, Steve stepped forward immediately, snagging a clean towel off the rack as he did. Billy pulled the plug on the tub, and over the sound of the water draining, Steve asked, "Do you need me to lift you out of there? Because I can try, but I gotta tell you, I don't think you lost enough muscle mass for me to really do that."

"No," Billy said immediately. Even if he had dropped enough weight to make that work - which physical therapy had meant he hadn't - he was pretty sure he'd have to be unconscious to let that happen. "Just - grab my arms, give me something to brace against. Maybe be ready to catch me if I slip." Or if his hip gave out, which was the more likely option, but like hell Billy was telling more people than necessary about his medical issues. Steve knew more than anyone but the doctors, Max, and Susan anyway, just because they worked on the car together.

"I can do that," Steve said, and draped the towel over one shoulder before offering his forearms. When his grip closed around Billy's own arms, his fingers were warm and strong. Billy shivered as he pulled himself out of the water, slowly and carefully.

Steve didn't let him go once he was standing, which Billy was grateful for. The trickiest part - getting over the high lip of Susan's garden tub - wasn't over yet. Instead, Steve shuffled off of the bath mat, making room for Billy to place his wet feet.

His goddamn hip did give, of course, when he had one foot out of the tub already. He would have landed painfully on either his hip or his balls if Steve hadn't let go of his arms and grabbed him around the chest, hauling him up as Billy got his feet back under him. When he was sure he wouldn't fall again he put his hands on Steve's shoulders, intending to push him away. They were close, though. Closer than they'd gotten in the gym showers, and that was pretty damn close. They'd only been closer in basketball, really, and it had been a long time since Billy had been close like this to a guy. Billy shivered again.

Steve started and pushed him gently back, but it was only to toss Billy the towel like the mother hen he was. "Guess you don't get to tease me about planting my feet any more, huh?" he asked, clearly trying to break the tension.

"Guess not," Billy managed. His chest felt tight.

* * *

Thanksgiving was that week, so Billy didn't have to see any more of Steve or the rest of Max's little gang for a few days, at least. Hopefully that was enough time to bring the shattered pieces of his pride and dignity back together. Patch them up enough that it didn't show, at least. Billy was good at projecting an image - it was what got him through high school. But there had to be a foundation there, and right now with the total weakness he'd shown Steve Harrington, he wasn't sure there was much left to balance his facade on.

Thanksgiving with Max and Susan was nice, at least. He was on guard and flinching at the kitchen noises for the first few hours of the day, no matter that it was just him and Susan working in the kitchen and fending off Max, like most nights Susan wasn't working. Billy hadn't had a good, calm holiday dinner since well before his mom left. If it wasn't her and Neil fighting in the kitchen over what to cook, it was Neil drinking too much watching his fucking college football, or bitching about having Max and Billy in the house and underfoot all the time when he wanted to wind down from work. It was hard to turn off the feeling that he should be looking out for something bad while the scents of green bean casserole and pumpkin pie filled the kitchen. Eventually, though, Max got him involved in an argument about what they'd watch after dinner - they were all going to sit around and see General Hospital live for once while the turkey was in the oven - and it felt less like a holiday dinner and more like a bigger than usual dinner with his family.

Max and Susan were his family now, he realized, frozen in the middle of peeling potatoes. And he liked that. Much as he'd loved his mom, she was gone, and she didn't know him - the bad and the good - like they did. She'd left too soon for that. He had to stare down very hard at the paring knife while his eyes burned. Billy was a crier, always had been, couldn't help it, but this was the first time he could remember when the tears weren't laced with anger and fear. There was a little pain, that he'd gotten to eighteen without knowing what a real family felt like, that his real mom and dad had never given it to him, but mostly he was glad that after how bad he'd fucked up, over and over again, Max and Susan were willing to take him in, give him another chance, let him into their family.

"You seeing if they'll peel just under the power of your stinkeye?" Max asked, peering at his potatoes like she was gonna filch a raw bit of them. She just might - she was weird like that. "You gotta try harder for that."

"Shut up, shitbird," Billy grumbled, and blinked hard before he started peeling again. "I don't see you helping, so you can keep your wiseass comments to yourself."

"Billy, I didn't think you wanted food poisoning on Thanksgiving," Susan said mildly from where she was elbow deep in stuffing.

"Mooooooom," Max whined, "I'm getting better!"

"You are, honey, but from your starting point, better's not quite enough," Susan said. She wasn't wrong. She and Billy both had started trying to involve Max in the meals they made, because if Billy got a job and moved out anytime soon, Max was screwed any time Susan had to work late. She was making progress, but not enough to be trusted with anything like a Thanksgiving dinner.

"Why don't you make yourself useful and bring me a beer, huh?" Billy asked, since Max wasn't doing anything other than hanging around otherwise.

"It's Thanksgiving and it's only just past noon," Susan said to him. Billy raised his eyebrows at her - his dad would have been three beers deep by now, so he had trouble seeing her point. Susan sighed. "If you open that bottle of wine for us, you can have a glass. A _small_ one," Susan said to Max. So Billy guessed that serving wine to him was a mom thing now.

Dinner turned out okay - Billy enjoyed it, but when he knew he'd be eating the leftovers all weekend, he wasn't all that enthusiastic about it. He still ate more than Susan and Max did. His abs weren't gone completely, but it was harder to see them these days, between the scarring and Billy not being able to do as many crunches as he used to. The layer of softness made his scars less stark, though, so he didn't cut down. Wasn't like he planned on letting anybody check out the feel of his bare stomach any time soon. Well, Steve had felt it, but it wasn't exactly the kind of thing Billy was counting.

Billy had won the argument over the post-dinner programming, but his show didn't start for another hour so he let Max channel surf while he sprawled on the couch, a little sleepy from the food and the wine. Max, in wordless exchange, had let him have the hot water bottle without argument. Between that and the fact that his pills were actually working enough that he didn't regret the long stretch sat at the table, Billy was feeling as much at peace with the world as he could be. Definitely more peaceful than he had been last Thanksgiving, when Max still hated him for beating Steve's face in two weeks before and his dad cursed more and more steadily at the college team on TV. Max even switched the channel over to MTV without complaint when the clock hit nine, although the sound of dishes clanking from the kitchen got notably louder. Susan didn't like metal music, but she said Billy was too old for her to stop him listening to it.

He and Max watched Dee Snider clown around and present some videos for a while, although Billy was keenly interested in the rankings. He'd sent a postcard in for himself, and he'd caught sight of Max's in the mailbox, though he pretended not to. At the first commercial break, though, Max turned to him and said, "Is that the guy you were trying to look like?"

Billy flushed. "No, why?" he said, but even he could hear how unconvincing his tone was.

Max snorted. "The weights thing? The short sleeves? The boots? The gloves? The hair? Come on, Billy. It doesn't take a genius."

Billy sank a little further into the couch. "Yeah, well," he muttered. "Not a lot of metal singers with blond curly hair."

"Neil must have hated it," Max said after a moment. "He's the one with that video with the makeup and the pink, right?"

"That's him," Billy said. "I don't think Neil looked at my album covers too close, or I wouldn't have gotten away with it." It was the first time Max had so much as brought up his dad's name around him since July. Billy kept his eyes on the TV as Dee hugged Lemmy and sat down with him, not wanting to disturb the moment.

"He looked cool in that video, though," Max said. "Still tough even with the makeup."

"Yeah," Billy said, and smiled.

* * *

Steve's mom was gone by Monday and Billy was going stir crazy, so they worked on the Camaro two or three times a week now. After the first week when they'd both got sick of the two Cars albums they owned between them, they'd struck a bargain where they alternated whose tapes they listened to while they got their hands dirty. Miraculously, Billy's collection had somehow survived the whole goddamn shitshow of July mostly intact, and no one had lifted any of them while the car sat at the impound lot and the body shop. So when it was his turn, like it was today, a couple of weeks into December, Billy just had to rifle through his shoebox, which had pride of place next to the radio.

He and Steve had made way faster progress on the car than Billy had expected, actually. They'd almost replaced the whole suspension at this point, and one wheel. Steve was currently under the car, up on ramps with the back wheels chocked, as Billy talked him through replacing the tie rod. After today, they'd need new brake pads, new paint, and probably new tires before he let Max behind the wheel, but it was looking like they'd be done before Christmas.

When Steve rolled out from under the Camaro, flushed and with black grime under his nails, Billy said, "Guess your dad might be getting his parking spot back in time after all."

Steve didn't look so happy about that. Billy didn't think his dad was as bad as Neil had been, but he seemed like an asshole, from the little bit Steve had let slip. "Guess so," he said, heading towards the door. "Can you get that for me?" he said, tilting his head at the knob to the door. He and Billy had a system; since Billy couldn't do as much of the physical shit as he used to, Steve was usually the only one to get his hands dirty, unless it was a two person job. That way his mom didn't lose her mind at the engine grease stains all over her house.

Billy opened the door, letting Steve into the laundry room, and started the sink without asking. Over the sound of the water and the strong scent of Lava soap, Steve said, "So is it gonna be a Christmas present instead of a birthday present, then? Don't tell me I'm still on the hook for coming up with something." He grinned at Billy, but the same senses that told him when Neil was on the warpath and he needed to get out told him Steve was covering something up. Disappointment, maybe.

Billy took a deep breath and said, "Think I'll have the driving lessons as a Christmas present, and if she does well enough, she'll get the car for her birthday."

Steve whipped his head around. "But you love that car," he said. He'd certainly seen enough of the careful way Billy worked on her to know that, Billy guessed.

"Might wanna use the scrub brush on those nails, pretty boy," Billy said in lieu of answering. When Steve wasn't looking at him any more, he said, "Yeah, but Max'll take care of her, and…" he shrugged. "The docs say I'll probably have some problems, with low to the ground shit like that, for a long time. If I can ever deal with it again." And he didn't remember everything from being possessed, but there were enough ghosts in that car he didn't think he could get in it again. Not for long.

Steve was quiet until he shut off the water, and then he turned around. "Well, at least you're in Indiana. There's a ton of pickups out there for cheap. Especially Chevys. You're the only one crazy enough to want the upkeep."

Billy laughed, relieved that Steve wasn't going to make some huge deal out of this. "Excuse me? I just watched you change out the brake fluid on your fancy Beemer a whole fifteen hundred miles early because you'd had problems with it before last week."

"That's just knowing your car, Billy, and you know it," Steve insisted. "Come on, you'll be grateful for it while I'm hauling you home."

Billy took the hint and got in the car.

They were almost to the video store when Steve cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. "Hey, you wanna reach behind the seat for me?" he asked, looking basically the most suspicious a person could.

Billy stared at him a moment and then did. There was a box, wrapped up in old circulars from Melvald's, and he held it uncertainly. Was he supposed to hand it to Steve? He couldn't exactly open it while he was driving.

"That's for you," Steve said when Billy didn't do anything but sit there. "It's December now, and, well…" He shrugged as best he could from behind the wheel.

Billy tore off the paper slowly. He couldn't remember the last time he got a just because gift, and he had no idea what it could be. He didn't think Steve knew him well enough to get a good present, but who knew? Maybe he'd learned enough, talking to Billy while they worked. Despite himself, Billy was a little excited.

He shouldn't have been. Under the paper was a box for a brand new electric heating pad, and Billy's stomach dropped. "Why would you get me something like this?" he said, in the calmest, quietest voice he could muster.

Steve glanced over. "Well, you said you and Max were always fighting over the hot water bottle, so -"

"So you thought you'd throw the cripple a bone?" Billy interrupted, still in that calm voice. "Thought that I'd appreciate your pity? Your rich boy handouts?"

"What? No, Billy, I just - thought it might help you," Steve said, and he had the gall to sound hurt, when he was the one who was giving shit like this out like - like it was the only thing about Billy worth paying attention to anymore. Steve hadn't bothered with him before he got possessed and hurt and fucked over. Billy didn't know why he'd expected any different.

"Pull the fuck over," Billy growled out. He still wasn't yelling but he sure as hell wasn't keeping calm any more either. When Steve did, Billy made sure he was facing him full on when he snarled, "When I want your help, I'll fucking ask for it." Then he ripped his seatbelt off and slammed out of the car. He could feel the familiar prickling of furious tears at his eyes, and he'd be damned if he let Steve see him cry.

* * *

Billy hadn't stormed into the house the way he might have six months ago in a towering rage. He didn't do that kind of thing any more, and the cold of stomping home in just a thermal undershirt and his jean jacket had muted his anger and left him with a throbbing resentful hurt in its place. Still, he doubted his body language had been anything like welcoming, and Susan and Max had mostly left him alone as he sulked around the house for a few days. They had to notice something was happening - Billy didn't argue with Max over Jake and Bobbie's dumbass schemes, he was quiet when he helped Susan with dinner, and he took a lot more baths. They let it be, though, and Billy was grateful.

On Friday, though, Susan got her paycheck, and Billy had to sit down with her for the third time and explain to her how to take the numbers from her balanced checkbook and put them into the budget he'd made. She could improvise any recipe substitution you could think of on the fly, and that was way more complicated math than this, so Billy didn't understand why it was so hard for her to understand this. "Oh, I'm just no good at money, it's why we never had any before," she told him the first time. As far as Billy knew, they didn't have any money because picking your family up and moving them a couple thousand miles was expensive and Neil took a pay cut to do it, but he recognized his father's voice coming out of Susan's mouth, and he didn't feel like arguing with a ghost.

"Alright, this leaves you with, uh, $23 to go into savings," Billy said, and frowned down at the paper. "You know, Susan, if you didn't keep throwing out the classifieds before I could get to them, you could bank a little more in case something happens."

"Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that," Susan said. For a moment, Billy thought she was going to present him with a bill for back rent or tell him he had to buy his own groceries from now on, but instead she continued, "You did a really good job with the budget - better than I expected, to be honest. Did you mind doing it?"

Billy didn't see what this had to do with a job, but he said, "No, uh, I… had to do practice ones all the time before, they're pretty easy. Why?" He left out the part where it was easier without his dad smacking his hand every time he made a mistake.

"I was talking to Joyce," Susan said - since she'd kicked Neil out the other single moms in Max's little friend group had kind of taken her under their wing - "and she said that she was talking to Jim and he said with his daughter growing so fast and wanting nice clothes for dates and him having to spruce his house up for her, he was struggling with getting his money straight, since he doesn't work nearly as much overtime as he used to. I told her about the budget you did for me, and she said Jim would pay you to do one for him, if you didn't mind."

Jim was the Chief, and despite the fact that he and Susan had been on a first name basis for months since Max and El were best friends, it always threw Billy when she called him that. "Uh, sure," he said. "If he doesn't mind me knowing that much about his bank account."

"No, I spoke to him, and he seemed fine with it, since his daughter likes you so much," Susan said. "Joyce also said that she'd look your budget over, and if it looked good enough, she'd consider it as experience if you put in an application at the general store. Since the mall closed, business picked back up enough that they're hiring a bookkeeper and inventory person."

"Oh," Billy managed. It wasn't the kind of thing that he'd ever seen himself doing, but if it was as simple as doing Susan's budget had been, it was the kind of work that he could do now. He'd just… have to work out rides somehow, without the Camaro. (He did not think of Steve.) "Yeah, that sounds great. Uh, tell her thanks for me?"

"I will," Susan said, sounding self-satisfied. "Do you have other plans tonight? It's payday for Jim too, so it's the best time for him to start."

* * *

"Why have you been all weird and on edge this week?" Max asked during a commercial break. They could have fast forwarded through them, but Susan claimed she liked having time built in to get food and drinks. Billy rolled his eyes at her for it, but they were her tapes, and he and Max had picked the habit up even when they were watching without her because she was working late, like tonight.

His first instinct was to claim he hadn't been on edge, but he knew it would be a bigger lie than he could stomach. Between Steve, seeing the Chief on Friday, and the promise of a job dangling in front of him, Billy had been snappier than usual. He wasn't about to tell Max about his stupid fight, though, so he said, "Maybe the Chief makes me nervous."

Max rolled her eyes at him. "He's El's dad, and you love El," she said. "He might have before, but not anymore. Try again!"

"This fucking job, okay?" Billy snapped. "I really need to make some cash but it's not work I've ever done before."

"Bzzt, not that either," Max said. "You've been weird since last Monday and Mom only told you about that Friday."

Billy hunched his shoulders and pressed the hot water bottle closer to him. "Jesus, Max, mind your business."

Max didn't look like she was ready to give up, but the show was back on and she was really fucking invested with this thing with Bobbie, Jake, Jennifer, and Ted they had going on. Billy breathed out a shaky sigh and crossed his fingers she wouldn't start that shit back up again.

His luck didn't run that way, though. When the next commercial break hit, Max flung her legs on top of his so he'd have to work to untangle them and said, "You know, you won't feel any better if you won't talk about it."

"I don't need to talk about it. I'm not a fucking girl," Billy said grumpily. He felt bad for how close he'd sounded to the man he used to be a few minutes ago, but not enough to give in to this interrogation.

"Robert and Sean and Alan aren't girls and they talk things out all the time!" Max said indignantly.

"Yeah, but this is a girl's show," Billy said. "It's not just the shit with the statue that's made up."

Max snorted. "So talking about your feelings as a guy is as fake as a statue with magic powers? What about as fake as being possessed by a shadow monster?"

"Max -" Billy tried.

"Just shut up a minute!" Max said. "If all that stuff from July can be real, why don't we get some of the good make believe stuff too? Why can't you talk to me? I know something's wrong and I know it has to do with Steve and I don't want to lose you as my brother because you get all choked off and angry again!" There were tears starting in the corners of her eyes, and she angrily scrubbed them away.

Billy opened his mouth slightly, completely at a loss, and then sighed and paused the tape. "I don't want to tell you because I don't want you to take his side," he said. "And I feel real fucking dumb about it."

"If it's too dumb, I probably will," Max said, "but probably it's both your faults. Boys are stupid."

Billy laughed at her and then smacked one of her legs, just hard enough to make a noise. "Let me up, I need a smoke if I'm going to tell this story."

When they had their coats and shoes and Billy had a cigarette, he told her, "Steve… got me something last week. We're not just working on his essay, we end up talking a lot, like friends, like he knows me, and I got kind of excited about the present, you know? You know what Christmas was like here." Max grimaced, and Billy took another drag off his cigarette. "And it was just some fancy rich boy toy. An electric heating pad cause he noticed my hip hurt after he had to pull me out of the bath the other day. And I just got so goddamn mad. The thing - that monster already made me a cripple. I know people are starting to notice, but I don't need fucking pity for it either. Especially not from… from someone I thought was my friend," Billy finished. His throat was tight.

"Okay, that was dumb," Max said. "But I guess I get why you think that."

"Yeah?" Billy asked.

Max shrugged. "You had a lot more friends before this summer but none of them came to visit you of anything. Steve was the only one and you guys weren't even friends then. I got really mad when I thought the boys were all being dumb and didn't trust me last year."

Billy winced, but she was right. He felt like an idiot having a fucking freshman explain his own feelings to him, though. And something didn't quite add up. Billy had had fights with friends before - his real friends, back in California, who he trusted enough to be real with, unlike any of his high school friends here. It hadn't felt like this. It sucked, sure. But he hadn't felt so hurt, so disappointed and betrayed.

Billy must have been quiet too long trying to make the pieces fit, because Max continued, "You know Steve's parents suck, right? Not like your dad, but Dustin says all his dad ever does is yell at him, tell him he's an idiot who shouldn't even try, shit like that. And his mom just… gives him stuff. She says hi, gives him a present and a drink, and leaves. She doesn't talk to him, or like, hug him or anything, and she never gives him anything he likes. Dustin says he has a whole drawer full of things he only wears when she's home."

"He told me his mom kicks his dad out every year for Thanksgiving and lets him back for Christmas," Billy said, fumbling with another cigarette. "Thought that was kinda weird, but we don't talk about that other shit."

"Exactly!" Max cried out. "Neither one of you learned to talk about your feelings! You just get mad and overreact and Steve just smiles and changes the subject! So go talk to him, for real. You can still be mad if he actually meant it that way, but he probably didn't. He's not an asshole like that."

"Yeah, okay," Billy told her. "I'll think about it. Let's get inside and finish, shithead. It's cold out here."

He couldn't stop thinking about what Max had said the rest of the episode, though. He guessed the talking thing was true, and he did actually like Steve. Trying to articulate what the hell was going on in his head was tricky for Billy, but he liked Steve enough to try. And Max was right, the men on this trashy show did talk about how they were feeling a whole hell of a lot more than men ever had around Billy before. Mostly when somebody died or if they were making a love confession or something, though.

Oh _shit_. That was it. That was the missing piece, Billy thought, as he watched Robert set things up so he could leave town. Billy _liked_ Steve. That was why he'd gotten so excited and then so fucking hurt about the present. No wonder he'd blown up so bad. Billy had always been high strung at the best of times, but crushes and dates brought it out in him the worst. He'd swing from excitement to despair at the drop of a hat, and despair never seemed to come out as anything but anger with him.

If nothing else, Steve deserved a fucking explanation, Billy thought. The episode was over, but he didn't remember a damn thing that happened in the last half. He'd have to try to finish it with Susan later or something. That wasn't important right now. He ignored the weird look Max was giving him and went into the kitchen, digging out the phonebook. He needed to find out where Steve was tonight.

* * *

Steve was working at the Family Video until it closed, and the girl who answered the phone didn't seem to want to hand it over until Steve took it from her. He sounded almost as wary on the line as he had the first time he'd walked into Billy's hospital room, and Billy's stomach sank. Still, Steve agreed to pick him up tomorrow after lunch so they could talk. Which left Billy about sixteen hours to jitter out of his skin, wondering what the hell he was going to say to Steve. It was one thing to decide he needed to know. It was another to actually spit it out in front of him. 

He still hadn't quite decided by the time he got into the front seat of the Beemer, and Steve didn't seem to know what to say either. It was a tense, silent ride over to the Harrington house.

Unusually, Steve led him into the main part of the house when they parked, but he didn't turn and face Billy until they were in the kitchen. Billy snuck a couple of uncertain looks at him as they walked through the house, and as soon as Steve met his eyes, he blurted out, "I'm sorry."

Steve looked like this had completely derailed whatever he has been building up to. "What?" he said. 

"I'm sorry," Billy repeated. "I blew up at you because I thought that heating pad meant that I was just your pet project, the guy you pitied, not your friend. And I really want to be your friend, Steve, I'm just an asshole sometimes. Actually, I got so mad because I want to be more than your friend and I thought you knew me better, but I do want to be your friend too, I swear. I've had more fun talking shit and putting the car back together with you than I ever had getting wasted with Tommy. Please say I didn't fuck it all up."

Steve stared at him, mouth slightly parted, for a long moment. Then he said, "Can I show you something?"

"Uh, sure?" Billy said. This wasn't any of the responses he'd thought might happen. 

Steve led him into the laundry room, and then, after a deep breath with his hand on the door handle, into the garage. Billy was about to ask why they hadn't come into the garage in the first place when he stopped in the doorway, his breath catching in his throat. All the rippling, warped paint that had been on the side of the Camaro where it had been hit was gone as if it had never been. The trim on the car gleamed. The whole finish looked showroom pristine, actually, and there was a set of new tires stacked next to the front end. 

"Steve?" Billy asked. There was a bit of a wobble in his voice. 

"Nancy said I rely too much on gifts and grand gestures, and Robin said I should start with something small that shows I pay attention to you, but I clearly fucked that up," Steve said. "I wanted to make you feel more comfortable, was all, but it didn't work out like that, so… I did something big. For Max, a little, but mostly for you. I don't know how to talk about this, but I like you, Billy. I don't want us to be done fixing the car because I don't want to stop spending time with you, but at the same time I want it to be ready so maybe you'll smile at me. And maybe you'll get in here and drive away and I'll never see you again, I thought, when I got this done, but I'll know that I… did something. I helped. So, I hope you like it. I like you too," Steve finished with a shrug. 

"I think this is the nicest goddamn thing anyone's ever done for me," Billy said, throat tight and eyes stinging. He stepped into the garage and towards Steve until he had him backed into the hood of the Camaro. Then he kissed him. 

It had been months since he kissed anyone, but Billy thought even if he'd still been making out with every girl who would have him at parties, kissing Steve would be something special. The warmth of his tall, strong body against Billy's own, the way his mouth moved, the tiny sigh of satisfaction and pleasure he breathed out into Billy's mouth - they all lit Billy up inside. He pushed harder against Steve, even knowing there was nowhere for the other boy to go. Especially knowing that, even. He wanted to touch Steve fucking everywhere, but he couldn't stop kissing him long enough to say it.

After a few breathless moments, Steve broke away just enough to sit back on the Camaro's hood. His hair was fucked from Billy's hands and his cheeks were flushed. Billy thought he'd never looked better. "So I guess you like it," Steve said, grinning. 

"Oh, yeah," Billy breathed out, grinning back. "Where's that space heater, pretty boy? I wanna show you my appreciation. And I can't do it with your clothes on."

* * *

A few days before Christmas, Billy looped Susan in on his plan. He was afraid she would think his car wasn't safe for Max to learn on, but she seemed relieved that she wouldn't have to be the one teaching an overconfident new driver. So on Christmas Eve, there was someone to cover for him at home while Billy met Steve a few minutes up the road so he could retrieve the Camaro from the Harrington's as soon as Max fell asleep. 

Billy thought Susan probably told her he had late night training for his new job or something. In reality, he started the second of January to give him time to have a good holiday with his family. With Neil not there, a new boyfriend, and Max and Susan, Billy thought he had a good chance of it. 

When Susan finally rang to say Max had given up waiting for him to get home, Billy gave Steve one last kiss and pulled the Camaro out of the garage, passing Mr. Harrington's Benz. He gave it the finger as he left, well after midnight. He couldn't wait to see Max's face when he showed her the car. While the other kids in the neighborhood were riding their new bikes, Max would be riding up to the high school with him to practice driving on ice. If his sister had to hang around those nerds, she was going to be the cool queen of all of them. Billy would make sure of it.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://sirsparklepants.tumblr.com)


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